


paint me in trust

by Patcho418



Category: RWBY
Genre: Comfort, F/F, Happy Huntress Winter, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Literal Hurt/Comfort, Painkillers, Post-Volume 8 (RWBY), Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-20 16:08:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30007479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Patcho418/pseuds/Patcho418
Summary: It doesn't take Winter long with the Happy Huntresses to start feeling old wounds flare in pain again, and unfortunately she's not sure where Robyn keeps the painkillers.orIn which Winter deals with her pain and waits for Robyn's patience to run out (spoiler alert: it doesn't).
Relationships: Robyn Hill/Winter Schnee
Comments: 10
Kudos: 69





	paint me in trust

The clock strikes eleven, and Winter winces at the bout of pain that wracks her body once again.

In the ringing silence and open darkness of the Robyn’s living room, she’s careful not to let her pain show or sound; it’s not as though she doesn’t have practice with it, after all, but her years of hiding pain have all been focused on the pain of stinging words scratching at her throat as she’d held them back, or the pain of unshed tears freezing in Atlas’ unforgiving and endless winter. Blackened roots hidden by sizzling bleach, gritted teeth biting down on whatever she could to make sure her pain stayed hidden, her strength stayed resolute, and others’ faith in her stayed untarnished.

Still, she’s not used to the pain of broken bones and torn skin bandaged too early to heal fully. At the time, she’d told herself she’d be more useful on the field than in a bed; now, she reprimands herself for ever allowing herself in that damned brace.

(She could blame someone else. Perhaps the man who’d placed her in that brace, who’d convinced her she’d be better off fighting than resting, but it hardly feels fair to place the blame on a dead man. She’ll take it herself; it’s another pain she’s more than used to.)

Another surge of agony shoots up her left arm, where torn skin has only barely scarred over, and she reaches to hold it as she bites down against the sensation. At this rate, if this doesn’t stop anytime soon she may as well be waking up the entire household. Given the suspicious looks she’d received from May and Joanna upon her arrival at the Happy Huntress’ home, she’s entirely sure they wouldn’t appreciate her causing them any more trouble than she has.

The pain soon subsides, and Winter inhales a cool, soothing breath that she nearly regrets when it echoes out in the room around her. If she were back at the academy, she’d surely be able to drop by the health centre and pick up a few painkillers for herself, but that’s another pain she’s not ready to deal with. 

Unfortunately for her, it also means not knowing whether or not the Happy Huntresses are carrying any of their own. They must, she reckons. It’d be foolish for such efficient, skilled huntresses to not have anything to keep themselves up after battle. The question then becomes where they’d have them packed away.

Winter acquiesces to the hollow echo of the previous surge of agony and slowly peels herself off the sofa, careful not to give her battered, broken body any more reason to scream its pain back at her. The duvet Robyn had borrowed to her falls in a heap at her feet ( _ “Don’t worry about me,” Robyn had reassured her when offering it to Winter, “my bed’s warm enough as is.”)  _ and Winter grabs the olive-coloured hoodie she’d left her as well; it smells of industry, of rust and grease and aerosol, of everything Winter associates with Mantle and Robyn (and freedom - though she doesn’t admit to that one quite yet, not knowingly).

Slowly and quietly, she pads around the lodging, careful of her own light footfalls as if any misstep would bring down the wrath of those that Winter’s freedom belongs to. The orange glow of Mantle - distinct in many ways from the teal glow of Atlas, and warmer in many more - lights her way to the kitchen, where every cupboard she checks bears no relief for her pain. 

Sighing, Winter steps down the hallway, steps even quieter between each Huntress’ door; she stops by Robyn’s for the briefest of moments and eyes the emblem posted in burnished brass in the middle of the wood. She could always ask her for help; after all, she’d only be taking her up on the offer she’d made at every turning point in Winter’s journey forward. 

Robyn had been nothing but kind to her since the moment Winter had stepped away from the military, offering her trust without so much as a question or doubt and painting her world in green when others had doubted her sincerity. Surely, Robyn would have had every reason to not be so kind to her, and surely Winter would have had enough guilt to taint the truth with veins of red.

Robyn had only been patient and kind, and Winter doesn’t want that to run out. She passes quickly by the door and heads to the bathroom, again quickly shifting through various cupboards and drawers to find anything that might soothe the intermittent torture her body’s been inflicting upon her for hours now.

Nothing, and Winter lets the last drawer close with a defeated sigh that crumples into a small whine of pain. She braces herself against the enamel sink, fingertips curling further than they should and only adding to the white-hot pain of torn muscle and shattered bone coming together again, as if being bolted by metal and strung by wires. Winter can’t help but wonder if this is what she deserves after all, if this pain had begun years ago and was only now coming to painful, retributive fruition on the other side of oblivion.

When the pain subsides and her vision clears of the flurry of vivid colours, Winter’s head hangs for a moment and she finds her breaths again. She can’t keep dealing with this, not without help.

She turns to leave the bathroom, flicking the light off and stepping into the hallway only to stop in her tracks (and wince at the small but dull surge of pain at such an abrupt move) at the sight of a shadowy figure in the hallway. It doesn’t take her long to recognize Robyn, her violet eyes still patient and her wild hair up in a characteristically messy ponytail.

“Hey,” Robyn whispers with a smile hidden by shadow but no less sincere.

Winter pauses. She feels like she should make up some excuse about what she’s doing up so late.

“Hi. I couldn't sleep.”

There have been better excuses, she reckons. There have been  _ real _ excuses.

“I was using the bathroom.”

Much more believable, she supposes.

Robyn lets out a light huff of laughter. “Good for you,” she teases, though it’s not malicious in any way. “I’m just getting a snack. I won’t be long.”

“Wait!” Winter interjects before Robyn can step away, though it likely comes out harsher than Winter had intended. Robyn waits, patient as ever, as she looks down into Winter’s eyes (as if she needed any other reason to be so hesitant to speak, now she has to wait until words come back to her). “I...I need your help.”

Robyn smiles and crosses her arms coolly. “Shoot. What do you need?”

“Painkillers,” Winter says in a low voice, “please. I can’t find any.”

Robyn nods and steps back towards her bedroom door, turning the knob and letting it swing quietly open. “Come on, I’ve got some in my bag.”

Winter can’t help but think having painkillers in such a personal place instead of anywhere communal is a little strange, but the Happy Huntresses have clearly gotten by without adhering to what Atlas might consider ‘common sense’ (though, she’d argue, a lot of their ‘sense’ is just a long tradition of excuses). Winter steps into the bedroom as Robyn rushes to turn on her bedside lamp, painting everything in a dull glow of orange. Winter hadn’t gotten the chance before to see the space, thinking perhaps it would be an invasion of Robyn’s personal privacy to get much more than a fleeting glance, but now in the quiet intimacy of the small room she’s able to put together a much clearer picture of Robyn Hill.

Her arms fold over her midsection as she takes it all in, her eyes trailing over the various photographs Robyn has pinned to a large cork board on one wall - most of which are with the Happy Huntresses, though several display the familiar blues of Atlas Academy - before glancing upon the small tokens and decorations adorning her dresser (namely a small succulent that Winter can’t help but find endearing). She can’t help but feel somewhat intrusive, being somewhere so personal with someone who has every reason to dislike or distrust her; at the very least, she can trust that Robyn trusts her, and that means trusting her in her bedroom of all places. And, at the very least, she can take solace in the warmth the gesture brings (or maybe it’s the faint heat buzzing under her bruised skin at being in Robyn’s room, beside Robyn’s bed, while Robyn’s in her pajamas - an image Winter doesn’t have words to describe yet, but knows that she shouldn’t be thinking of.)

Winter lets the warm glow settle her unsteady breaths as Robyn rummages through her messenger bag, finally finding what she’s looking for with a muffled “gotcha!” before pulling the bottle out and handing it to Winter.

“You take them,” she instructs. “You’ll probably need them more than me, honestly.”

Winter looks at the bottle in her hand, then back up to Robyn, who regards her expectantly. 

“I...I’ll bring them back when I’m done,” Winter says.

“Hey. You take them. You’re in a lot more pain than I will be any time soon.” Again, Robyn is patient, and kind, and accepting such kindness and patience is another kind of pain - unfortunately, it’s one that Winter’s not yet used to. 

She looks back down at the bottle and frowns. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Robyn’s voice is unwavering, and Winter doesn’t need the glow of green to trust Robyn now. “I don’t think either of us want you back in that damned thing, huh?”

Winter can’t help but let out a small laugh of her own; gods forbid she ever wear the brace currently collecting dust in the corner of the living room again. 

“Besides,’ Robyn adds, and when Winter looks back up at her she catches the brief flash of deep pink in her cheeks and coyness in her gaze, “you look much better in my hoodie.”

There’s another unfamiliar pain, this one very faint, warm in her own cheeks and dull in her cracked chest. Winter can hardly complain about it, even when her own heartbeats pounds in her ears louder than her own jumbled thoughts. _Especially_ then.

Robyn smirks and reaches forward to curl Winter’s fingers around the painkillers; her touch is soft, and patient, and kind, and Winter isn’t sure she wants to head back to bed just yet if she can maybe just redeem every offer of kindness from Robyn instead; at the very least, it’s kept her mind away from thoughts of pain or the frigid mask she wears to conceal it.

“You should go get some rest,” Robyn suggests, to which Winter nods wordlessly.

“I...yes, rest. I’m going to go rest now. Thank you, Robyn.” She wants to say more, to thank her for all that she’s done for her when she’s still unsure how much of it she deserves, but instead she laces the meaning in the words and hopes Robyn understands.

“I’m here for whatever you need, Winter.” Robyn’s smile tells her all that she needs to know to settle her mind for now, and the quick dart of her eyes down to Winter’s hand tells her all she needs to embrace a kinder, brighter future.

Winter finds her way back to the living room and settles onto the sofa before quickly taking one of the painkillers. She’s sure it’ll take effect soon enough, but for now she’ll let the warmth of Robyn’s kindness delay any pain she might otherwise feel.

It’s an unfamiliar pain, she decides, slowly falling in love without the words to even know it for herself, but it’s a much better pain than the metal stretching her bones and the wires pulling at her muscles.

And it’s a subtle, faint pain with the perfect remedy only a few doors away; a remedy with a patient smile, kind eyes, and who brings a newfound freedom to her life.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, thanks for reading !! As always I really appreciate comments bc I'm a needy binch who craves validation but also loves to know what you enjoyed so I can be sure to write it again (also constructive criticism is appreciated) !!
> 
> If you want more Schneewood Forest content, I have two more fics for them!
> 
> [two bodies; one vision](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27503791)  
> [ moment of truth (E)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27766018)
> 
> Thanks for reading, come scream with me about the new episode on Twt !! My handle is @PatchoDraws !!


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